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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29600325">I'll Take Care of You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/camnoelgallavich/pseuds/camnoelgallavich'>camnoelgallavich</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinlin5/pseuds/jinlin5'>jinlin5</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Husbands and Shit [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>11x06, Childhood Trauma, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gap Filler, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Past Abuse, Season/Series 11, they talk guys they talk they really talk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:15:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,271</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29600325</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/camnoelgallavich/pseuds/camnoelgallavich, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinlin5/pseuds/jinlin5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill in for 11x6. Ian and Mickey talk about the past, and focus on the future.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher &amp; Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Husbands and Shit [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713814</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>262</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'll Take Care of You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>We wanted to expand on the beautiful little moments Ian and Mickey had in 11x6, and give them some sort of resolution!<br/>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <a href="https://ibb.co/CKXpttk">
    
  </a>
</p><p>“You are <em> so much </em> better than that.”</p><p>Ian’s fingers parted the short hairs at the nape of Mickey’s neck, holding him in place and forcing him to make eye contact. It was written all over Mickey’s face - he wanted to believe the words, but he obviously wasn’t quite there yet. Ian gave him a helpful push in the direction of the front steps, watching him walk up into the house and following closely behind. </p><p>Mickey knew he needed to get inside. </p><p>He was pretty sure the old bastard couldn’t move his neck on his own, but Mickey would be damned if he would let Terry see him shaking.</p><p>But Mickey was shaking. He couldn’t deny it, and he knew Ian could see it too. Mickey needed to get up the steps and to the door, one foot in front of the other, before he could even begin to pick apart what he had just done. </p><p>Ian trailed behind him and even though he was filled to brim with pride, Mickey clearly had a lot to process. Both men remained silent until they were inside the house and Ian was simply biding his time, waiting for Mickey’s inevitable outburst. It felt a bit like waiting for a bomb to detonate, without knowing just how long the fuse was. </p><p>When the anger didn’t come right away, Ian decided to try and beat it to the punch. He took Mickey’s hand and led his husband up the living room steps and directly into the bathroom. Mickey didn’t have the energy to put up a fight when Ian began to unhook his vest, attempting to get some of the physical weight off his chest to help him breathe easier. Ian set the heavy vest down and silently got to work on the front of Mickey’s jacket, only then tilting his head downward to try and catch Mickey’s gaze. </p><p>“It’s been a fuckin’ long day…” Ian murmured, “So you’re gonna shower and go to lay down. I’ll get started on some food, alright?” Ian couldn’t help but take charge when Mickey obviously had so much on his mind. The man needed to sort his shit out and Mickey had never been the best multitasker, especially when one of the tasks involved his own<em> feelings </em>. </p><p>Mickey seriously considered protesting as Ian doted on him. He thought about backing away and taking all his shit off himself, telling his husband to stop babying him. That he was fine. </p><p>Then again, maybe he wasn’t fine. As Ian worked deftly at undressing him, Mickey thought about how he had just picked his paralyzed father up - wheelchair and fucking all - and carried him up the front steps. It was certainly more compassion than Terry had ever shown him, or anyone for that matter. Mickey watched Ian’s face, only inches away from his own, as his flack jacket was quickly undone to expose his tank top underneath. Ian had helped him. He’d <em> asked </em> if he could help (for once in his life), and then he did. </p><p>“Thanks,” Mickey murmured. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was thanking him for. Just <em> everything </em>, he guessed. It didn’t feel like enough, but the tiny smile Ian sported made Mickey feel like he understood more than either of them could verbalize.</p><p>  “You don’t have to thank me.” Ian shook his head and kept his voice low, matching Mickey’s. “<em>Ever</em>, okay? I do the shit that I do ‘cause I want to take care of you. Same as you do with me.” He met Mickey’s eyes as he spoke, sounding fully confident in his confession. “I love you.” Ian explained - plain and simple. Dropping a kiss onto the top of Mickey’s head, Ian faced the tub, twisting the hot water knob and adjusting the temperature until it was perfect. When Ian turned back to Mickey, he bent down and pulled Mickey’s unbuttoned pants and boxers down to the floor with him, finally kneeling to untie Mickey’s shoelaces.</p><p>“Jesus, man you don’t have to-“ Mickey began to object, but it was clear his husband wasn’t about to be deterred. So he just let it happen - let Ian slip his boots and socks off. He watched as Ian gathered up the pieces of the discarded uniform in his arms to take down to the washer while Mickey showered. </p><p>Mickey figured, Ian was doing it as much for himself and he was for his husband. </p><p>*</p><p>Mickey took a long shower. Long and necessary. </p><p>Not only was he physically exhausted from the day, but he had just been put through the fucking emotional ringer. He’d confronted feelings he hadn’t dragged out into the light of day for <em> years. </em> Feelings he’d assumed were buried deep since he’d gotten out of prison, married Ian, and <em> moved on </em> with his life. Turned out - not so much. </p><p>The truth was, seeing Terry stuck in that chair fucked him up royally. It wasn’t that he gave a shit. Not in the traditional sense. If anyone deserved to have the use of his limbs ruthlessly snatched away from him, it was that miserable waste of space. Still, seeing the man who abused him and his siblings from dawn until dusk for decades looking so weak - so vulnerable…</p><p>Pulling the trigger should have been easy. But in the end, Mickey just couldn’t do it. It was a good thing, he figured. He talked a big game, but Mickey knew if he got thrown back in the hole for murdering Terry’s pathetic ass, he’d never be able to forgive himself for putting Ian through it all over again. </p><p>With one hand resting against the shower wall, Mickey tried to let the tension in his shoulders go, washing down the drain along with the water spraying down on him. His spine was aching, his muscles knotted up, and he thought maybe if he started crying right then and there that Ian wouldn’t be able to tell by the time he got out. Mickey felt like a pussy. </p><p>
  <em> That was big of you.  </em>
</p><p>Ian didn’t think he was a pussy. Ian thought he was strong. Ian thought he was <em> better </em>. Better than the shitty place he’d come from, stronger than the shitty genes he’d inherited. Someone who deserved a good life, with family, and love, and a home. </p><p>Someone who deserved to be taken care of. </p><p>*</p><p>Ian had peeled off his own heavy gear in their bedroom, stripping down into his tank top and boxers before he went to the kitchen to start the laundry and get cooking. He made two grilled cheese sandwiches as efficiently as he could, making sure to butter the bread on both sides so it would toast up crisply in the pan. As he sliced pickles to go along with the sandwiches, he realized how badly he also needed a shower. But Ian knew himself well enough to predict that if he had stepped foot into the shower with Mickey, neither one of them would be getting clean in a hurry. They had a habit of using their bodies to help each other feel better over the years, and while banging had always served as a quick fix for whatever had ailed them at the time, in the end it tended to only lead to more repressed feelings.</p><p>That wasn’t who they were anymore, Ian decided. They couldn’t be. No more using sex to sweep uncomfortable shit under the rug. After such a tumultuous day, Mickey didn’t need just any old distraction. He needed to come to terms with what he’d done, and more importantly, what he<em> hadn’t </em>done. </p><p>Once he had found some clothes to throw on, Mickey padded down the stairs in search of Ian. He knew the rest of the circus would probably be home soon, but for now, it seemed like they actually had enough space to breathe without tripping over a stray Gallagher, and Mickey was fucking grateful for it. He had a feeling he would have an even shorter fuse than usual if one of those jokers decided to test his patience. Mickey considered her family, but Debbie had a special talent for getting on his very last nerve. </p><p>Mickey smelled the grilled cheese about halfway down the back staircase, and instantly broke out in a grin. Ian always made him that shit when he knew Mickey needed a little pick me up - and he could even tell that Ian had burnt the bread slightly, just the way Mickey loved it. </p><p>“Shit,” Mickey hummed in his husband’s direction once he reached the bottom of the steps, stretching his arms above his head and hearing his back crack audibly, “You’re really doin’ damage control, huh?”</p><p>Ian rolled his eyes at Mickey’s attempt to lift up that age old metaphorical rug and promptly sweep his feelings underneath. He wouldn’t stand for it. Not today. “Nah, I’m just making dinner for my husband- a guy who doesn’t know how to listen, apparently. You were supposed to go lay down, Mick.” Ian tossed him a look over his shoulder as he plated the second sandwich and turned off the stove. </p><p>“Don’t wanna lay down. Too wired.” Mickey huffed, coming up to rest behind Ian, curling his arms around the man’s waist. It was a move he would never have made in front of anyone else. </p><p>Ian leaned back against his husband, feeling his own muscles relax as Mickey’s damp hair and soft cheek rubbed against his shoulder blade. Oddly enough, he felt a little guilty because he knew he should be the one holding Mickey, all things considered. He twisted in his husband's arms, wrapping his own around Mickey’s shoulders and pulling him in for a bone-crushing hug. </p><p>“Wanna go somewhere then?” Ian offered. He understood what Mickey meant about being wired - his own skin was still crawling from the intensity of watching the man he loved face down his personal demons in the form of his newly paralyzed father. As it was, there were only a few thin walls and a patch of wilted grass standing between them and that fucking monster, so Ian figured that maybe getting away from being in Terry’s immediate vicinity would help Mickey relax enough to actually talk about it. They could still hear the distant clamoring of the assorted Milkoviches on either side of the house.</p><p>“Sure.” Mickey shrugged. Ian was doing so much for him, without being too overbearing. It was exactly what he needed, and the best part was, he hadn’t even needed to articulate it. Ian just knew. “Where do you wanna go?”</p><p>“I have an idea. Do me a favor and put these in a ziploc?” Ian let go of Mickey suddenly and passed both plates to his husband, before heading for the steps. “I’ll be quick.” He promised, disappearing from sight. Mickey opened his mouth to ask Ian what the hell he was on, but ultimately decided it was too much effort, and he resigned himself to packing up the sandwiches. </p><p>A few minutes later, Ian came trundling down the staircase, fully dressed, with a duffle bag in one hand and his own hoodie in the other. “We’ll go out the back.” Ian nodded towards the door, pressing the hoodie to Mickey’s chest, his silent way of telling Mickey to put it on so he wouldn’t get cold. </p><p>Typically, Mickey would have complained. He would have asked several questions, and given Ian just a little bit of a hard time about the answers before finally going along with whatever the man had planned anyway. This time, however, Mickey found himself so worn out that he decided to just cut out the fucking middle man and get with the program. He stared down at the hoodie pressed to his chest for a few seconds before simply accepting it with a grunt and pulling it on. </p><p>“Alright man, what’s your big idea?” Mickey finally asked, trailing after Ian as he reached out for the door handle.</p><p>Ian gave Mickey a warm smile, flashing his teeth. “We’re going to one of our spots.” He explained, as he pulled the door open. He knew Mickey would follow him to the ends of the Earth, if Ian would only ask.</p><p>*</p><p>After a leisurely fifteen minute walk, they made it to the abandoned compound of dilapidated buildings they had visited on many occasions as wayward teens. It was shocking that the masses of bricks and cement had yet to be torn down, a decade later. As they stood at the base of the structure, Ian finally took Mickey’s hand, away from prying eyes. </p><p>“Let’s hope the mattress is still up there.” Ian chuckled softly, pulling Mickey through the hole in one of the walls where, presumably, a door used to be. </p><p>Mickey allowed himself to be led along, glancing around at the familiar place. There was a lot of history contained within the crumbling walls of the decrepit building, and it all came flooding back to him in an instant. He didn’t know if that was a good thing, more terrible memories relating to Terry multiplying in his mind like fucking rabbits, but it sure felt pretty damn great to be back there, with Ian, after so much time had passed - together and stronger than ever. </p><p>“Oh yeah right, the mattress that was fuckin’ old and nasty back when we were kids,” Mickey joked, lengthening his strides to keep up with Ian, “Goddamn Gallagher, if that ain’t <em> romance… </em> ” It was said with a heavy dose of sarcasm and yet, Mickey thought it kind of <em> was </em> romantic, all things considered. Especially after the hellish day they had both been through. </p><p>Ian himself was bombarded by the similarities between their past and present - nearly every time that they had escaped to their little hideaway they had been avoiding Terry, or dealing with some other element of their fucked up childhoods. Now, Ian had come with the intention to reclaim it. It was <em> their </em>fucking spot, and Mickey was no longer afraid. </p><p>“Don’t worry dickhead, I brought shit to cover the mattress.” Ian squeezed his hand tighter, aware that Mickey was resorting to his usual defense mechanism of excessive sarcasm. Ian had always seen right through it. “We needed somewhere to go, and <em> someone </em> hasn’t really been contributing to the apartment fund.” </p><p>“Shut the fuck up, man,” Mickey laughed as they scaled the rusted metal staircases running along the interior of the building, spiraling around straight to the top floors. It was a miracle that the stairs had not collapsed yet, after all these years. “Did you miss the part where we’re both makin’ the same money now? Just wait a couple weeks and we’ll be rolling in it. Then I’ll buy your whiny ass an entire fucking <em> house </em>, if you want.” It was meant to be a joke, and yet, once Mickey said it out loud he thought it might actually be a good plan. They both deserved a place that was their own - really their own. </p><p>Looking over in surprise, Ian almost missed a rusty step, yanking on Mickey’s arm to try and regain his balance. “Don’t joke like that.” Ian cleared his throat, pretending like he hadn’t just tripped, stepping ahead of Mickey as they finally made it out into the open air. The warm sun was still floating above them in the sky - heating up the ground and <em> hopefully </em> the mattress. Ian had only brought two blankets in the duffle, one to lay on the disgusting carcass of a bed and another to lay over them in case things got too frigid. After spreading out the thicker blanket, he lowered himself down onto the mattress and reached up to offer Mickey a hand down, feeling a bit like a prince in those Disney movies Franny always tried to make them watch.</p><p>Mickey snorted and rolled his eyes, but accepted his husband’s outstretched hand, plopping himself down next to him. “Yup, still as gross as I remember,” He murmured, thankful for the blanket between him and the surface of the stained mattress. </p><p>Ian smirked, thinking back to the dirty little boy who never cared about the cleanliness of their spot in the past. He nodded in agreement with Mickey’s statement anyway, as he settled in next to Mickey on the blanket that he was sure they’d need to incinerate when they got back home. Ian pulled the cooling sandwiches out of his duffle bag too before emptying out the other blanket. “God, I’m starving. Maybe we’ll have to pick up something else on the way home.” He grumbled as he looked down at his measly sandwich. </p><p>By the time Ian had even gotten the words out, Mickey had already scooped up his sandwich and devoured half of it, barely stopping to chew before swallowing. He was starving too and he hadn’t realized it until that moment. Honestly, they had barely eaten all day, other than the two doughnuts he had scarfed down in the morning before heading out on their rounds. There hadn’t been much time for food, and Mickey hadn’t had much of an appetite. But it was returning to him now in full force. </p><p>“Yeah we probably should,” Mickey conceded, his voice muffled by the food, “Oh shit, d’you think there’ll be any donuts left?” He already knew the answer - it was a stupid question really. Donuts never lasted very long in the Gallagher house. </p><p>“Definitely not.” Ian snickered at Mickey’s naivete. “But, we can go get some more tomorrow morning before work.” The comfort and ease by which that statement came to him helped relax Ian even more. Earlier today, when he’d seen his husband hold a gun to Terry’s chest, the first thing that crossed his mind was Mickey going back to prison without him. Terry wasn’t worth it. Terry Milkovich deserved to die - that much Ian could easily agree with - but not by Mickey’s hand. Not if it meant Mickey giving up his life, one that he’d worked so hard for. Ian would rather give up his own life than see that happen, any day of the fucking week. </p><p>The time was over for Mickey to be making selfless sacrifices. He’d already made enough of those, protecting Ian. <em> Loving </em> him. Now, it was Ian’s turn. So yes, they could go and get donuts the very next morning - because Mickey was there with him. Not in police custody for shooting Terry. Not in a cold, lonely cell. Ian was more than relieved that Mickey had made the right choice. </p><p>Mickey could see his husband's mind churning as he chewed, and so he knocked his knee into Ian’s to get his attention. He didn’t say anything - he didn’t need to. He simply made eye contact, reaching down to lace their fingers together and giving Ian’s palm a tight squeeze. It was all the communication they needed. The cool metal of his husband’s ring pressed into Mickey’s flesh, and it felt like it was making a permanent imprint. </p><p>Ian glanced away after a while, smoothing his thumb over the back of Mickey’s hand and finally taking a bite of his sandwich. He leaned sideways into Mickey’s shoulder, gazing around at the remains of his old training ground. “We’re gonna bring our kids here someday.” He commented between bites. Ian knew they weren’t ready to talk about Terry just yet, so he thought maybe they could work up to it slowly. </p><p>Mickey couldn’t help but snicker at the mundanity of the statement. “Well, we better fuckin’ hurry, huh? Last I heard you were planning on becoming completely paralyzed, so we gotta get this shit done before your dick stops working.” It was a dark joke, but he knew it would make Ian laugh. </p><p>“Again, you’re a fuckin’ asshole.” Ian nearly choked on his food and knocked Mickey over gently, taking another two massive bites and finishing off his sandwich once he’d finally cleared his throat. </p><p>“I know.” Mickey chuckled, wrapping his fingers around Ian’s bicep and using it to leverage himself back up into a sitting position. “But, I’m starting to think that’s what you like about me.” </p><p>“Yeah? You might be onto something there, Sherlock.” Ian teased back, turning his face and pursing his lips slightly - asking for affection without saying it out loud.</p><p>Mickey grabbed either side of his husband’s face and pulled him in, giving him everything he was asking for, and perhaps even a little bit more. </p><p>“Look, I know you said not to thank you,” Mickey whispered once he pulled away, still holding on to Ian and forcing him to listen. “But <em> fuck you </em> , I’m doin’ it anyway.” He closed his eyes then, pressing his forehead to Ian’s and giving himself just one more second to compose himself before saying anything else. “ <em> Thank you </em>. For lookin’ out for my homicidal ass today.” </p><p>Mickey wasn’t what one would call a ‘thank you’ type of person. Honestly, he hadn’t had much to be thankful for in his life before Ian came crashing into it.</p><p>Ian held his hands over Mickey’s wrists, his eyes falling shut while Mickey held his face and spoke so calmingly. “You’re welcome.” Ian answered quietly, even though it felt weird to say. “It’s my job to keep you safe, isn’t it?” He added, pecking the tip of Mickey’s nose.</p><p>Mickey clicked his tongue and gave his husband a little shove away. “Like hell it is. If that’s the case, it’s my job to make your job fuckin’ impossible.” He winked. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” Mickey wrapped his arm around Ian’s shoulder and squeezed, exhaling as he looked around and attempted to change the topic. “Man I wish we had some beers.” </p><p>“Dammit. I knew I was forgetting something.” Ian groaned, tucking himself into Mickey’s side for a moment before gently pushing Mickey to lay down on his back, stretching lengthwise across the mattress. “I owe you donuts and some beer then, keep adding to the list.” He pulled Mickey over to lay on top of his chest. </p><p>“Layin’ it on pretty thick there…” Mickey commented cheekily, letting himself flop over onto Ian and ignoring how terribly lumpy the old mattress was once his back was off of it. “What’re you tryin’ to pull, hm?” </p><p>“Trying to get you to talk about feelings without using a sock puppet. But I mean, if you really need one, I can take off one of my socks and…” Ian joked, miming a puppet with his hand before sobering up and combing his digits through the hair on the crown of Mickey’s head. He raked his eyes over Mickey’s face, resting right in front of him. Ian paused for a prolonged moment - although he knew what needed to be said, he wasn’t quite sure how to say it.</p><p>“You <em> are </em> better than that piece of shit, Mick. Always have been.” Ian spoke softly, as his other hand slowly rose upward, coming to rest on Mickey’s back. “You’ve never been anything like Terry.”</p><p>Mickey grunted, mulling it over. He could feel Ian breathing against his chest and focused on the patterned rise and fall. </p><p>Ian took the silence as a sign to continue. “Before we hooked up, I was definitely terrified of you. I mean, you did have a fuckin’ rap sheet a mile long by the time you were ten. But after… ya know, I could tell you were faking it. Putting up a front.” Ian shrugged.“‘Cause you could never be like him.” </p><p>Mickey sucked in a deep breath, and rolled onto his side. He needed to take a minute and process it all. He wasn’t good with expressing all that shit out loud, but Ian knew that. There were many things he should have probably said, but there was one overriding question at the forefront of his mind. “You were really scared of me, huh?” </p><p>“Is that all you heard?” Ian rolled his eyes to the heavens, flipping Mickey off without  even looking at him. He decided to answer Mickey’s question, in the hopes that it would earn him a real answer in return. “Of course. I was scared shitless. I’d heard of you giving beatdowns at school, and I saw what you did to Lip when you came looking for me.” Ian shook his head, flashing back to being pressed up against the door of the storage room at the Kash and Grab, with his future husband pounding like a mad man on the door. “But then I realized you were fuckin’ puny and I could squash you like a bug.” He pinched one of Mickey’s cheeks, just to tick him off.</p><p>Mickey slapped Ian’s hands away. “I did kinda threaten to murder you, didn’t I?” He chuckled. “Pretty glad I didn’t, actually…” He added quietly before taking a breath. “I just… don’t have it in me, I guess. Used to think that made me a pussy. Everyone said so.” Mickey shifted uncomfortably, trying not to take up shaking again. He couldn’t handle all the goddamn shaking and if Ian saw it, he would try and baby him some more - and Mickey didn’t know if he could really handle it, if he was honest. </p><p>“I’m glad you get it now. That ‘<em> what everyone says </em> ’ doesn’t fuckin’ matter.” A serious look overtook Ian’s face as he met Mickey’s gaze once more. He needed Mickey to understand. “I always knew you didn’t have it in you. And, that’s a fucking <em> good </em> thing, Mick.” Ian’s voice was surprisingly hoarse with a lifetime’s worth of emotions. “You moved guns and drugs because he forced you to - and you were fucking good at that, I’m not gonna lie. But putting your life at risk was never your idea to begin with. You fagbashed to impress him, even though it scared the shit out of you that he might find out your secret. And then he caught us. And then I… and then I forced it out of you, forced you to say it w-when… when I wasn’t in the right state of mind. But that’s no fuckin’ excuse. That’s all on me.” Everything had finally caught up to Ian and it seemed that he was having trouble just getting each sentence out. “And, I’m so sorry.” A tear rolled down Ian’s cheek. They rarely ever spoke so candidly about what happened to them. </p><p>“You’re not a killer.” Ian managed to choke out. “You’re <em> good </em>, Mick. Down to your core. I’ve always known that.” </p><p>“Jesus, alright! Fuckin’ motor mouth.” Mickey huffed out, watching as Ian’s face redden and his eyes starting to well up. Ian never could keep it together, and although it was one of the things that used to make his skin crawl and his stomach churn, now he felt as if it might be one of his favorite things about his husband. He was soft and sweet and holy fuck, he cared. Mickey thought Ian cared more than anyone would ever know. “Don’t give yourself a fuckin’ stroke, man. It’s alright.” He hummed, pressing a kiss between Ian’s eyes. </p><p>Ian closed his eyes and leaned forward into Mickey’s touch. “It’s only gonna be alright when you believe what I’m saying.” He wiped his eyes and took a shaky breath to continue. “As much as you hate him, you’d never kill him. Or Frank,” Ian hiccupped a small chuckle at the sad memory. “‘Cause… ‘cause you’re mine, Mick, and you’re a better person than I could ever be.” He nosed at Mickey’s cheek. </p><p>“I believe you,” Mickey assured him, without hesitation. “I believe you.” He clung to Ian a bit tighter. And he really did believe, maybe for the first time in his entire fucking life. </p><p>Ian rolled to his side, wrapping an arm around Mickey’s back and pulling him in even closer. He cradled the back of Mickey’s head, pressing his lips softly against Mickey’s. “I’m gonna get us outta there. Then you won’t have to see his face anymore.” He promised, swallowing thickly. </p><p>“Oh yeah?” Mickey pulled back slightly to look Ian in the eyes, his eyebrows springing up like gymnasts. “How you plannin’ on pullin’ that one off?” </p><p>“<em> I’m </em> gonna start handling the money. I’ll sneak it all to the bank while you’re sleeping and put it into an account for us. Might leave the singles behind for some fun, but the rest goes into our moving fund.” He was partially teasing, but he was even more determined to leave home now. They had lived in Terry’s shadow for far too long. Now that the asshole was knocked down to size, it was time for them to move on. </p><p>Mickey was speechless. As much as they talked about leaving, he sort of thought they would die in the Gallagher house. They had lived their entire lives in the shit neighborhood and Mickey felt like he had grown up at the house on 2119 South Wallace as much as the one on Trumbull Ave. He had never seriously considered splitting - but of course, Ian had been thinking about since they were young. Ian had always planned to go somewhere else - anywhere else.</p><p>Ian tilted his head to the side and gazed at Mickey for a moment, surprised he didn’t have a comeback at the ready. “What? You don’t like that?” He asked curiously. Considering Mickey had been the one to come up with work for the both of them in the first place, Ian thought he was onboard with the whole moving out thing. He had listened to Ian’s complaints, and he must’ve agreed - at least that’s what Ian had believed. </p><p>Mickey thought about it. He thought about how - since the minute Ian got down on one knee like the most embarrassing asshole in the universe and told Mickey that he loved him more than <em> anything </em>- Mickey’s goal had been singular. Make it to the wedding.</p><p>They made it. They actually fucking made it, and now over six months later, Mickey realized that he’d come to the end of his plan. Everyday, he was just making shit up as he went, and he didn’t know how long either of them could keep it up. The whole thing with Terry made it even more clear - it was time to move on. Maybe not that second, and maybe not the next day or the day after that, but sooner rather than later. </p><p>“You keep worrying so much your fuckin’ head’s gonna explode,” Mickey joked, and Ian’s consternation eased when Mickey took his hand, toying with his wedding band. “Of course I like that. You’re right. It’s time to move the fuck on.” He conceded. </p><p>Ian closed his hand around Mickey’s, using it to pull him even closer. “Good, ‘cause I’m gonna let you be in charge of picking our bed.” He announced. “I was gonna use that as a bargaining chip… but, you were easier to convince than I thought you were gonna be.” He laughed, pressing a kiss to his knuckles and pulling Mickey back to rest against his chest.</p><p>“As long as it’s not a flea bitten dumpster mattress, I’ll be happy,” Mickey chirped as he settled back onto Ian and made himself comfortable. </p><p>Maybe the day had been a long time coming, but it was behind them now. It felt to Mickey that something inside of him had shifted irreversibly, and he knew that Ian could feel it too. And it was a good thing.</p><p><em> Out with the old, I guess, </em>Mickey thought to himself, as Ian’s warm hand drew loose circles on the small of his back. </p><p>Whatever <em> new </em> was to come, Mickey finally thought he was ready. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! We hope we did the moment justice. Kudos and comments are always appreciated &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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